Word: beheld
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...incredible ferocity, was hurling its titanic waters upon a scene wherein buildings of granite, steel, cement, riven at their foundations, toppled insanely upon one another or hurtled separately through the air to melt into the yawning earth amid great ruin, confusion and desolation. The man who beheld this by the kitchen lamp turned his eyes, glazed with horror, upon the erstwhile screaming woman. They looked at each other with a wild conviction. The City of New York was utterly destroyed...
...Langtry, Yvonne-Printemps, the Duke of Connaught, the Count and Countess Vignal, Jean de Reszke, Lady Waterlow, Princess Radziwill and some 400 others. They listened to a score which is modern without eccentricity, melodious without stickiness, followed the poetic story of a Chinese beauty damned for loving too well, beheld scenes that were "lavish," "fascinating...
...from removing or damaging any of his models. They tried the door of the hut; it was locked. They peered through the window. Representatives of the press who came up at that moment peered over their shoulders. In the dim light, on the floor of the quiet interior, they beheld unmistakable fragments-the torn limbs, the broken heads of Generals Lee, Jackson and their gallant soldiers, bits of plaster, pieces of stone. They had come too late...
...could credit what they beheld when they arrived? The island crawled, swarmed, bristled, writhed with life. The Thinkwells were received by a pompous gentleman with long chestnut whiskers. He was Albert Smith, Prime Minister, son of the original Miss Smith who, aged 99, still ruled the island. Now the islanders, after 70 years of segregated history, had attained an astonishing civilization which was almost an exact facsimile of that from which they had been marooned in 1851. Miss Smith, an extraordinary old woman, usually drunk, had come to believe that she was herself Queen Victoria. She called her palace Balmoral...
There, they beheld anthologies in oils, signed by Fry. A tree from Watteau, a sash from Cezanne, a tilted corner from Guy Pene Du Bois?second-hand oddments tumbled from the artistic property-trunk that is Mr. Fry's memory. Brave among them was a portrait of Lytton Strachey. His beard was dank, red, hedged, jowl and cheek; clammy were his hands; unkissed, unblessed, looked this great author. Students, painters, gazed upon him, went away muttering about the Fire, the Frying...